The Ottawa free trader. [volume] (Ottawa, Ill.) 1843-1916, 1887-06-25
WILKINS COLUMN.
BIZ Samuel Wilkins.
" EART.'

Cuc Wieutu WouIu call III tHc MUSES. ut
And tell what knew OF the subject Heart
Now Of sentiments music I've hardly note
And the only time my heart was e'er In my
throat
Was the time attempted to smoke q cigar
And the whole thing went back on me, and
well, as far
As just at this writing I'm able to state
don't think that "heart" is exactly my gait
But as It's the subject the lady assigned,
] will corral my Maynard and wandering
mind,
And call In the aid Of the Muses. art,
And tell what think OF the subject Heart
As the literal heart In each human breast,
As a physical organ, is never at rest,
So the figurstive heart Of our hopes and fears
The heart OF our feelings, our smiles and tears
Must rise and fall with each JOY or i'll
As it keeps on throbbing, and throbbing still
1t keeps on tbrobbng, yet all the time
The motion varies. The step and rhyme
Depend on the feelings that surge or rest
In the deep recess Of the human breast.
No heart can leap with joy that's true
When it thinks of the rent that will soon come
DUE
No heart can bound with rapturous thrill
When 1t dwells on an unpaid grocery bill.
And, on the contrary, what heart can wade
In despair with its salary promptly paid?
What heart but is beating more free and light
When all Is pleasant and things work right
But the noblest heart is the brave and strong,
That keeps on beating " hen things go wrong,
The heart that is flower, and leaf and vine,
Ia the gladness and warmth Of this life's sun.
shine,
But in every tempest, and in every shock,
1t is flint, and granite, and oak, and rock
The heart that is gentle when things go right,
But is solid and strong mid the waves of night
Now as to the lovely-the sentiment part
OF this very peculiar subject-"heart,"
Devoid of pointer, hint, or a tip,
I shall have to let this department skip.
Some poets were born with a natural gush--
A sort of exuberant, springtime slush,
That lets them sail on the wings of air,
And sing of elysiums sweet and rare,'
And write about hc wrets, and clear blue skies,
And fairy madens, with dazzling eyes,
But if was built ON the plan below,
Where cabbages ripen and thistles grow,
lcan't write things that know not of,
And sentiment, springtime and heaven and
love
Are things that hear Of, and things see
And / sometimes dream they may come to me;
tbn
time,
And the gift to describe them is sure not mine.
But the principal thing that want to do
Is just to distinguish the false and true
For we meet with people at every turn
Whose eyes can't moisten-whose cheeks
can't burn
Who are filled with deception, and fashion,
and art,
And who haven't an honest and human
heart
No heart that the feelings and soul have fed,
But sort of q chickens gizzard instead.
They've an organ that beats to measured
rhyme,
And that circulates blood in regular time,
But it can't warm, and it isn't true,
And the blood it strengthens is cold and blue
1t never can glow with a joy that's real,
But it's hard, and hinty, and cold as steel.
1t performs its fuuctions in physical part,
But it oughtn't to go by the name of "heart"
And then there's the kind that is weak and
frail,
And is always expecting to sink, or fail
It's the heart that is good, to the last degree,
But which faints in the toss of heavy sea.
Now we cannot change the Divine behest
OF the kind of heart that's within our breast,
But we all can aim at the just and true.
Yes, that is thing that we all can do.
As mid the struggle, and work, and strife,
We study our parts for the play of Life,
We can all of us carry strong, true part
II we have the courage, and have the heart.
The heart to do, and the heart to bear
The heart to wrestle with grief and care,
The heart that can culver with joy or pain,
The heart that can suffer and not be slain,
The heart to work with an honest zest
And the heart to do what we know is best.
WHERE?
"Where are the SHOWS that fell last year?
that's what is troubling one of the ex
obonro, Nou dopIt LpoU poo;t;ua1,,